The old cat poses, thin and sleek
He wipes his whiskers, ears and cheek
I wonder how he knows from birth
How to be so quick and chic.
His head inclined toward the earth
(He looks more than he's really worth)
He sits so straight, so very long
It seems as if it is his berth.
He listens to a silent song
As busy people walk along
It seems that's his place to belong.
And nothing can ever again go wrong.
And now, since that was more of a silly poem, you get another poem on the same day!! Aren't you lucky?
No Silence
Never silence
(an unwanted cough)
not like it says
in books
air not thick, but
just not there
a little cold
who else is here?
no one(or else
no silence)
yet too much space
for those things
(the ones you
really don't want to think of)
and time
loses meaning
(why, it's dark
now
where has the sun gone?)
But did it ever exist
in the first place...
like the silence
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